


Afterward

by applecameron



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Past Torture, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7547407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecameron/pseuds/applecameron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Eames breaks Arthur out of a black-site prison in Turkey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He blinked awake, slowly, because someone was saying his name, again and again. _Arthur? Arthur?_ It sounded a lot like Eames, but Eames usually didn't sound almost afraid. What did Eames have to be afraid of? 

Arthur knew his eyes were open because there was light periodically obscured by blurs that might be people. He tried to stop one of them, make the blur hold still so he could look, but his arms weren't moving when he told them to. 

He was cold. _Arthur? Don't go to sleep, Arthur_. He closed his eyes. 

* * *

Eames looked out the window to see where Arthur lay, mostly a jumble of bones and skin with a fluff of hair on top, dozing. They had washed up at a spa resort in Slovakia after breaking Arthur out of that _cursed_ Turkish black site. 

Eames probed his conscience briefly, or his reasonable facsimile thereof. No. He really didn't feel much guilt, overall, for fomenting the overthrow of the Turkish government just to stage a jailbreak. One, it was Arthur. Two, it was _Arthur_. He'd topple bigger governments than that if he had to. And he didn't even topple this one, really. This was just a swift kick to the regime, to shake loose access and get in and out. 

Fuckers were _starving_ him. When he saw the security feed for the first time, Arthur, head shaved, every bone painfully visible, as they tortured him, he almost didn't recognize him. Not until he took a long, slow look at his hands and feet, seeing past the broken digits to their inherent grace. 

He had to put aside the rage whenever it welled up in him, filling him like a forge fills his skin in dream, it was so big it claimed everything, all the pieces of him, pushing him into a new shape, and he couldn't think around it. 

So, he went out to Arthur's chaise, and kept him company instead. 


	2. Chapter 2

He always knows when it's Eames, picking him up, holding him close. The nurse who bathes what remains of his body - he feels so lightly tethered to the world, if it weren't for Eames, he didn't think he'd stay - has thin, capable hands, and her own scent. Eames' fingers are thicker, warmer, and Eames scoops him up and holds him to his chest. Arthur can breathe deep, hear his heartbeat, healthy and endearing, when Eames takes him from bed to chaise, or to the lounger out in the garden. 

He usually doesn't stay awake for the whole trip, however short it is. Not for a while. 

His body just doesn't do what he says to it right now. Eames muttered something once that sounded like 'emaciated', and he feels like a feather when Eames picks him up. There was an IV, at some point. The taste of clear broth. Tubes with high-nutrient liquid food, poking through the equipment keeping his jaw immobilized to heal. 

There is a phantom pain where his missing toes used to be. He saw the uneven number of digits in a moment when he was both alert enough and able to keep his eyes open long enough to focus on them. 

No plaster casts on any limbs. Pins instead, most likely, and other things to keep him immobilized. His fingers hurt enough - each one, neatly splinted - he's pretty sure he won't lose any of them. 

He wishes he could talk to Eames. Tell him thank you. Tell him all the conversations they had in his head while he was locked up alone. Tell him Eames kept his sanity safe and didn't even know it. He'd like hearing that. 

Tell him he is really here, in this busted up body, still Arthur. Biding his time. 

They are in this place long enough that Arthur starts dreaming again. The dreams are confused snippets mostly, common for someone just coming off Somnacin, the human brain processing events in its own, weird way. 

He wakes up from a dream where people were trying to take his brain and put it in a car so they could make him turn on the air conditioning, only their tools kept blunting on the skin of his neck, to find that his jaw has been released from confinement. He tries to bat away someone who keeps fiddling with bits attached to him, or something. 

"'mes." 

The sound of two footsteps and Eames leans in, smiling. "Pet." One of his hands sweeps a thumb along Arthur's eyebrow. "You can go back to sleep if you like. We have things in hand." 

"'aved me." 

"Yes, love." 

"Good." It sounded more like _gooth_ but he knows Eames will understand. 

And he does. "Very good, darling." 

The thumb keeps stroking and Arthur closes his eyes, abruptly exhausted. 

* * *

He likes being small enough for Eames to carry easily, although he knows it won't last. A little part of him is deeply moved by the not-really-parental tenderness, but the non-sexual physical intimacy between them. It's sweet. They've been sexual partners, casually, at different times over the years, but this is different. There's something about their being together in this place - Slovakia, apparently - that feels like they've fallen between the cracks of the world, the cracks of their own past together, into a place of no-time, of no boundaries. 

He has no energy, or interest, in whatever is outside their little sphere of existence at the moment. Even with the wiring off his jaw and his ability to talk returning, Arthur feels most expressive at the moment just rolling his head against Eames' chest or shoulder, like a cat seeking attention, or nestling into him comfortably and resting a thumb (refreshingly unsplinted) against Eames' skin, just to feel that he's there. 

Eames is a tactile man and always has been. Arthur seeking touch from him is speaking a language he knows well, and values deeply. When Eames rests a cheek or chin on Arthur's head, or kisses his hair, or whatever sign he gives in response, Arthur knows what it means. It's safety, and peace, and affection, as Eames holds him close, or reads to him, or just sits in the open air with him.


End file.
